by Janet Woods
The quake was soon over. Afterwards, the forest sounds were sharp, alarmed and alien. Tiana wished Sybilla were there to guide her. Recognizing an aching loneliness amongst her frustration and anger, she experienced a rare moment of helplessness and self-pity. Annoyed by it she nudged Atarta with her foot. “You’ve slept too long you idle creature, it’s time you woke.” The beast stumbled to a sitting position and stared bemusedly about him.
“He’s gorged himself in the forest,” a voice said from behind her.
Heart beating in a wild rhythm she spun around to confront a man leaning on a silver stick – a man so ancient he could only be an illusion. His beard was a wonder. It flowed to his belly in a series of thin, beaded braids and was decorated with glittering crystal beads and tinkling bells.
“Who are you and why are you here?” she said, trembling a little because as quickly as her mind provided the answer she had to deny it.
“I’m the Grand Alchemist.” He sat on a rock, hugging himself with his arms. “Brrrr, it’s cold out here. You are Tiana, daughter of light?”
She had not expected the Grand Alchemist to be so flamboyant. He reminded her of the flim-flam men who frequented the Truarc markets.
His eyes displayed a false impression of blindness, because when she looked closely, both expression and depth were apparent under the opal like surface. He was obviously deluded in his assumption of grandeur, and she must humor him. She smiled. “You need not tell me who I am. Why do you come to me, old man?”
“It’s you who come to me, Tiana. This is a place of sanctuary. My bones rest beneath the waterfall and you roused me with your music.”
She must be on her guard. This could be some trickery Kavan had dreamed up. “You are mistaken. I have no music.”
“The music of your mind has a stressful melody. The crystal pipes guarding my tomb vibrate with its confusion and sadness. I see from your badge that you’re a follower of my teachings. You evoked me in anger, and are in need of my counsel.”
“I’m sorry ancient of ancients.” She settled herself at his feet, gazing up at him in wary contrition. Was such a manifestation possible? “I was not aware I sought your counsel. Are you truly the spirit of The Grand Alchemist?”
“You doubt it?” A shrewd, but slightly shifty expression twisted the web of wrinkles around his eyes. “I suppose you want me to perform some trick or another to convince you.” He tapped the rock above her head with his stick and a stream of yellow songbirds flew out of the hard surface.
“Hmmm.” He appeared abashed as they winged their way into the sky, singing joyfully for their freedom yet his eyes were like those of a child seeking praise for his skills. He spread his hands, mock modest. “I must be losing my touch, they were supposed to be red.”
She supposed she ought to indulge him. “They were wonderful, really.”
He brightened. “Yes, I suppose they were.”
“This is a place of wonder,” she whispered, her glance anxiously on the songbirds as Kavan’s hawk appeared from nowhere to circle lazily above them. She watched the hawk go into a dive and latch on to its prey. Golden feathers floated downwards. “So much for freedom.”
“What’s one bird amongst many?” the old man murmured when she turned back to him.
“As you once wrote. Nature imposes its own checks and balances.”
“I did?”
“A line from the manual, Natural Curatives,” she reminded him.
“Ah yes, one of my more popular teaching volumes. I’m surprised it’s still in use.”
She didn’t tell him that reading of the volume was forbidden to all, the exception being a copy handed to the few chosen for his temple. If this were indeed the spirit of The Grand Alchemist she’d be wise to flatter him. “Your wisdom has long been proclaimed by the Truarc augur. Everybody has read the manual over the ages.”
He gave a modest shrug. “It’s a pity they didn’t act on it. If only the Truarc hadn’t considered themselves the superior race, and the Cabrilan weren’t so damned arrogant.” He smiled and wagged a bony finger at her. “You’re not a very good liar, you know. The God, Beltane, destroyed almost every volume produced. There are only four original volumes left intact. One is in the Truarc temple library, one in the Cabrilan museum and one in . . . now let me see.” He cocked his head to one side and thought for a while. “No . . . it’s the Book Of Enigmas in my tomb. Ah yes, it’s probably sealed in the great library under the manor. Not that the Cabrilan will ever read it.”
“That’s only three.”
His smile was pitying. “The other volume was in the sack you carried just before you were transported here. It was careless of you to leave it in the edge town, the book is priceless.”
“Why don’t you conjure up a few more?” she shot at him, embarrassed at being caught out in a lie and wondering why she’d bothered to spare his feelings. “If I’d been given notice of my transportation I’d have brought it with me.”
The alchemist chortled. “I can see why Kavan likes you. Your mind is open to the truth and you have a high level of spiritual awareness. Truarc women, even those of rank are rarely encouraged to think for themselves. I appreciate your kindness in trying to spare any finer feelings I may still possess, though your honesty is preferred. It’s more suited to your nature.”
“I do not fit the ideal,” she admitted. “Even my genes marked me as different; that was why I was selected to be apprenticed to the temple in the first place. Only I didn’t fit in there either . . . I didn’t fit anywhere until Sybilla took me under her wing.”
“Ah, Sybilla,” he whispered, as though he knew her – which of course was impossible because the alchemist had died thousands of generations ago. She wondered if hunger had caused hallucinations and she stretched out her hand to touch him. When it passed through his beard without feeling anything his opaque eyes glittered. “You’re hard to convince, aren’t you?”
“You’re different to what I expected,” she admitted.
“And you’re different enough to stir Kavan’s senses.” His voice had the sound of dry leaves rustling in the wind. “You both carry my genes in your blood. You inherited yours from Lynx, who was a love child I bestowed on a virgin of the sun temple.”
A dubious honor for the virgin, was legend about to repeat itself with herself and Kavan? She wondered
Her mouth twitched. “Lynx has made herself known to me.”
He sighed as if displeased by the interruption. He seemed to prefer the sound of his own voice.
“Kavan was fathered by Arcus, who sprang from my loins in a union with a Cabrilan mortal. As she lay dying she dedicated our son to everlasting darkness, then placed a curse on me. Thus, I was forced to live out my days on Cabrilan.”
Her shocked exclamation went unnoticed in the cackle of laughter he gave. “That’s why you and Kavan react so favorably to each other. He would have been intrigued when you sought to use the art of mesmer on him at your first meeting. Such a childish trick when he’s a supreme master of the art himself.”
She blushed. “I was a child then. My skills have increased now I’m grown up.”
The alchemist gave a cackling laugh again. He stepped back into the rock so he was visible only from the waist up. “I’ll come again when you need me, Tiana.”
“I’m honored most venerable of ancients,” she said, enjoying the display of melodrama in his nature. The last thing to disappear was one of his arms. Wonder of wonders, dangling from it was her sack. She caught it as it dropped to ground and feverishly unpacked the contents, searching for the withered cactus apple her last patient had given to her.
As she chewed on the leathery brown surface she reflected on the distant market place. There was a strong urge for human contact growing in her. If she could get there undetected she might be able to barter her skills for bread. But one of the telescopes was pointed in her direction. Her eyes drawn to the wishing bowl, she smiled. Hadn’t she been a bit hasty in disregarding its
usefulness?
“Odd,” Kavan said to his security adviser, “Of all the thing a maid would wish for, she’s materialized an image of herself.”
Pannis said with an indulgent smile, “A woman needs amusement, and especially a Truarc woman. They do not occupy themselves with garden culture and essential crafts, as do Cabrilan maids.”
“This maid doesn’t use imagery to amuse herself, she uses barbed insults, and intends to hang my scalp on her belt as a trophy . . . or worse!”
Pannis smiled at Kavan to lessen the censorship in his words. “I did advise you not to give her a wishing bowl, lord. You should have chosen a Cabrilan maid to take to wife. She would have done as she was instructed.”
The older Pannis gets the more he meddles in my personal affairs, Kavan thought. The old man was little more than a caretaker – the real security carried out by his own troopers, and directly under his own orders. He should retire him. The only thing holding him back was the fact that Pannis had been advisor to his stepfather. Retirement would break his heart. He sighed. Pannis still had a shrewd mind, and he must find something to occupy him. “I hear the followers of Beltane are active again.”
Pannis frowned. “It’s only rumor, Lord. Some say the followers are displeased with your choice of life-mate. It was Beltane who kept the half-siblings, Lynx and Arcus apart. Now, the direct descendants of the pair are to mate. They fear the outcome of the union.”
Kavan’s muscles tensed. “The outcome will save the known universe from destruction.”
“The simple people cannot grasp the concept of a universe. The land is abundant in its riches – that is what they know. They believe in what their eyes see and their hands can touch. The rest is magic and fills them with awe.”
“They cannot grasp the concept because they are simple people. They are simple people because we have no teachers to fill their heads with knowledge. They are simple because Cabrilan breeding to Cabrilan produces simplicity. We need the Truarc intelligence, and they need our brawn. We must bring the two parts of the planet together before the inevitable collision destroys us. What is so complicated about that?”
“They say the spirit of the alchemist has gained entrance to your brain . . . that he seeks to be reborn in the child of Kavan and Tiana.”
“The alchemist is long gone and I have no patience with market place gossip,” Kavan said shortly. “You seek to divert my attention from the followers of Beltane, and I’m beginning to wonder why.”
Pannis looked askance at him.
“If you cannot manage such an investigation I will hand it over to my troopers.”
A murmur of protest came from the man. “They will be too vigorous and will send them underground.”
“See to it then, Pannis. The issue must not be left to slide.” He must keep the man’s mind from going to the alchemist and the great library under the manor.
“Yes, Lord.”
“And, Pannis,” he said, his glance following as the older man backed silently to the door. “I want to know the names of any who plot against Tiana, for those who do so also plot against me. I have promised her my protection.”
A slight flicker of the eyelids was all Kavan got from Pannis before the door closed.
Kavan went back to the telescope, hastily removing his eyes when a kaleidoscope of light nearly blinded him. The sun was positioned to hit the surface of a reflective surface. “It must be the wishing dish,” he muttered, but whether the positioning was purposeful or accidental he couldn’t decide. A rough calculation told him he’d have to wait eleven tix before the sun moved.
He paced up and down as the crystal beam jerked slowly around the dial, then applied his eye to the telescope again. He smiled. There were still two Tiana’s up there, and they were dancing with each other. Pannis had been right, she was amusing herself.
He watched for a while, trying to make out which was the real Tiana. The twisting, turning bodies entranced him. Two of them in his bed became an intriguing possibility. But so far he hadn’t managed to get the real one there.
* * * *
The two became four, six, and then eight. She knew he was watching and was making fun of him. He scowled, and then capping the telescope turned on his heel and strode down to the manor hall to dispense justice.
* * * *
Tiana left Atarta behind. The Pitilan was too easily recognized.
Her brown robe belted tightly around her, she pulled the cowl over her head to hide her distinctive hair and face. The market place was crowded, the stalls selling a variety of fresh and cooked foods that made her mouth water. She found a quiet corner in the shade of a soup stall, with a narrow lane-way not far from her back in case she needed an escape route. From her vantage point on the High Place she’d memorized the layout, and the lane-way had little alleyways between the dwellings to cut through.
On Truarc she’d have been recognized for what she was from her badge, but here, people shouted their wares. Flat disks called credits were used as currency. Fish, fresh vegetables, bread and meats were bartered back and forth for plates and dishes, and clothing of so many styles and hues were on offer. It made her aware of the shabbiness of her robe. She was the odd one out, but she hadn’t dared to wear Kavan’s cloak.
“Healer,” she called out to a woman with a child. The woman gave her a cursory glance and moved on. “Healer of wounds, boils and stomach gripes,” she called out again.
The woman on the soup stall gave her a dubious look. “Not much call for healers in these parts. Every citizen has free access to the physicians.”
And indeed, the population looked generally healthy. By the time the sun moved overhead her voice had grown weaker and she still had no customers. The delicious aroma of broth in the air made her nostrils twitch and drove her crazy. Her stomach was hollow with hunger and she was near to fainting from it.
“I’ve been watching you tire,” the woman on the next stall said. “You need some of my broth. It’s full of meat and vegetables, and good and hearty.”
“I have nothing of value to give you in return.”
“Can you cure a child with a twisted body?” the woman whispered. “He’s my dead sister’s child, but if he can’t work my man said he must be abandoned.”
“I can try, but I’d have to examine the child first.”
“That’s payment enough, then.” A bowl of soup was placed in her hands, a thick chunk of bread to dip into it. Tiana ate it slowly, savoring each spoonful while the woman ladled out soup to her customers. In return, the woman ended up with a basket of fruit, vegetables, bread and clothing.
“Would you be a Truarc woman?”
Alarmed, Tiana stared at her.
“You needn’t be feared,” she said, “I be half Truarc myself. I haven’t seen you around here before. I hear tell there are temple sisters skilled in healing on Truarc. Be you one of them?”
“That I am,” Tiana said, and, sopping up the last of the soup handed back the bowl and changed the subject. “That’s the best broth I’ve ever tasted.”
The woman beamed a smile at her. “I’ll fetch little Santo.” From under the stall she lifted a blanket and placed it carefully at Tiana’s feet. A pale, thin child of about ten seasons lay on the blanket. His body was twisted along the length of his spine and his head was pulled to one side. His dark eyes held fright and he gazed at her with a resigned expression worn by those who truly suffer.
“There, Santo,” the woman whispered. “Let the healer look at you, and none of your foolish talk about your destiny.”
His fright faded as their glances joined together. Deep in the child’s eyes glowed the spark of his soul. She drew it into hers, immediately at one with him. “I see you, Santo.”
“And I you, Lady.”
“Then we’re as one.” She took his hands and nearly recoiled from the pain he carried. Her heart reached out to him. Pulling back her hood she murmured a mantra, then gently turned him on his stomach and ran her hands down his spin
e. Heat rose from the inflamed nerves of the vertebrae. The damage had occurred at birth. He could be straightened by normal methods, but it would take time and constant therapy to adjust the muscles.
Placing her hands just above the boy’s spine she slipped into a meditative state and concentrated on his pain. He stayed deep under her spell of mesmer. “Help me, Santo,” she whispered to him. “Join with my mind and believe you can be whole.” The force in him was strong, and gradually, the noise of the market place retreated from her consciousness.
She saw a seed of the desert spindle tree held tight in a protective gourd. Seasons came and went, the gourd changed from green to brown, the seed became dry and rattled impatiently inside it. On the horizon, the tenth-season rain clouds gathered. The gourd sucked in moisture from the air and split apart, propelling the seed a goodly distance. From its body a sharply pointed, long, and twisting spiral emerged. Thunder roared and lightning cleft the sky above. A drop of water hit the earth, then another and another. Soon, the brown soil became a gushing river that picked up the seed and carried it deep into the desert, where it was deposited. Moist sand covered it with subsequent storms. Gradually, the spiral straightened out and the spear drove deep into the soil to take root. From its top emerged the trunk and limbs, as straight and true as the shaft of an arrow . The little tree took sustenance from the soil it was rooted in, but although it was perfectly healthy it grew no taller.
Tiana pondered on the message of the trance when she opened her eyes.
“Praise be,” the woman said quietly. “You’ve straightened him. Be he able to work in the fields?”
“He’ll be healthy, but will not grow much bigger. It’s doubtful he’ll be fit for anything but light work. She remembered the force in him. “I believe the gods may have marked his destiny. His body must be exercised to strengthen his muscles before he can walk, so take him to swim in the lake beneath the fall.”
